Dreams of Paris
by Anne-Marie
Summary: A short fic. Sarah dreams of power over Jareth and is sadly mistaken in the assumption that dreams are private.


Sarah had fallen asleep right after she returned home from work.  
  
She sat at a cafe, in Paris, slowly stirring sugar into her drink. Looking up from the drizzle of white sand she met the mismatched gaze of her companion. "Don't look at me like that Jareth." She sighed. "Whatever do you mean my darling?" "Its the way you always look at me, I defeated you. You can't have me end of story." Her metal spoon clanked against the ceramic of her mug. A breeze picked up, blowing her hair around her. Somehow, Jareth's didn't move, it just danced whenever he tilted his head. He was dressed in an ensemble that was consistent with what he had worn when she had gone through the labyrinth. The Parisiennes didn't seem to care though. A waiter came up and offered the Goblin King a glass of water, Jareth waved him away with a gloved hand.  
  
"If its the end, Sarah--why are we here?" She frowned at his question.  
  
"To talk about old times, its what we always do Jareth." What a silly question. He wasn't behaving the way she expected him to. Usually they sat there and he begged for her attention, for her devotion. Perhaps she kept meeting with him because of what it did for her ego.  
  
"Well--I think there has been enough talking, and enough meeting. I'm through with it Sarah." He hissed, shoving himself away from the small table. Still no one paid any attention to them, but Sarah still felt mortified. She saw his hand rise up, wrist posing. She knew what was next. She dove across the table, upsetting her tea and the sugar. It splashed onto her, but the heat she should have felt wasn't there. She was only aware of ruining her suede skirt. She grabbed his wrist, fingers clutching leather.  
  
"Don't you dare, not here." Jareth smirked, he looked dangerous all of a sudden, she hadn't feared him for so long she almost cried at the feeling.   
  
"Yes little girl--you are learning your lesson now, aren't you?" His face darkened, he pulled his arm to his chest, pulling her along with him, he looked down into her face contempt radiating from his features. "For how many years now have you dreamt of this?" He waved a hand, suddenly the colors drained from the landscape, it was like a coloring book. They were the only ones there.  
  
"Wha--?" She gasped, her chest heaving against his in fear and shock. Jareth's other hand snaked up, clutching her jaw in his leather bound fingers.   
  
"Oh Sarah, you never learned anything did you?" He smirked, "Very well then, I shall have to tell you. Wouldn't want you to lead a ruined life without being able to blame yourself properly." His thumb brushed harshly across her lips. His eyes never strayed from hers. And she was powerless to move her own. She waited for his next words. "You couldn't leave it at defeating me, at abandoning your dreams---mine. No, you had to reclaim me, some tepid image you could tame. Nothing is tamed without being bent or broken, I do not bend. And I will not let you break me. Certainly it took me a while to replace that cardboard and paste version of myself you had concoccted. But I have, and you shall never have either of us. You want to know what it is like to shed your dreams Sarah Williams? Live a life without magic. I take all of my gifts from you." He bent down savagely parting her lips with his tongue--he raped her mouth. She wanted to cry or push him away, or claim dominence in somehow. Her will was as strong as his, she kept telling herself.  
  
Jareth pulled away, and laughed as if he could hear her thoughts. Then he dropped her to the ground, as a discarded cigarette. Still smoldering, but useless ash.  
  
Gasping as she woke up, Sarah clutched her blanket to her chest. Trying to calm herself down Sarah recalled the events of her dream. It was only a dream afterall. Finally, as the moon set she fell back into a dreamless slumber.  
  
When she woke up she felt as if she had lost something but she didn't know what. To work she went, an advertising executive. Sarah never dreamed again, never a creative thought. Her job was lost, she was forced to be a puppet to other people's dreams from there on. And she only had herself to blame. Yet she clung to the dreams she could remember.   
  
Somewhere, Sarah Williams had been important. 


End file.
